Boris Godunov

   When fate fulfils for me her covenant,   When I assume the crown of my forefathers,   I hope again to hear the measured tones   Of thy sweet voice, and thy inspired lay.   Musa gloriam Coronat, gloriaque musam.   And so, friends, till tomorrow, au revoir.   ALL. Forward! Long live Dimitry! Forward, forward!   Long live Dimitry, the great prince of Moscow!

CASTLE OF THE GOVERNOR

MNISHEK IN SAMBOR

   Dressing-Room of Marina

   MARINA, ROUZYA (dressing her), Serving-Women

   MARINA.   (Before a mirror.) Now then, is it ready? Cannot   you make haste?   ROUZYA. I pray you first to make the difficult choice;   Will you the necklace wear of pearls, or else   The emerald half-moon?   MARINA.              My diamond crown.   ROUZYA. Splendid! Do you remember that you wore it   When to the palace you were pleased to go?   They say that at the ball your gracious highness   Shone like the sun; men sighed, fair ladies whispered—   'Twas then that for the first time young Khotkevich   Beheld you, he who after shot himself.   And whosoever looked on you, they say   That instant fell in love.   MARINA.                  Can't you be quicker?   ROUZYA. At once. Today your father counts upon you.   'Twas not for naught the young tsarevich saw you;   He could not hide his rapture; wounded he is   Already; so it only needs to deal him   A resolute blow, and instantly, my lady,   He'll be in love with you. 'Tis now a month   Since, quitting Cracow, heedless of the war   And throne of Moscow, he has feasted here,   Your guest, enraging Poles alike and Russians.   Heavens! Shall I ever live to see the day?—   Say, you will not, when to his capital   Dimitry leads the queen of Moscow, say   You'll not forsake me?   MARINA.              Dost thou truly think   I shall be queen?   ROUZYA.         Who, if not you? Who here   Dares to compare in beauty with my mistress?   The race of Mnishek never yet has yielded   To any. In intellect you are beyond   All praise.—Happy the suitor whom your glance   Honours with its regard, who wins your heart—   Whoe'er he be, be he our king, the dauphin   Of France, or even this our poor tsarevich   God knows who, God knows whence!   MARINA.                        The very son   Of the tsar, and so confessed by the whole world.   ROUZYA. And yet last winter he was but a servant   In the house of Vishnevetsky.   MARINA.                     He was hiding.   ROUZYA. I do not question it: but still do you know   What people say about him? That perhaps   He is a deacon run away from Moscow,   In his own district a notorious rogue.   MARINA. What nonsense!   ROUZYA.              O, I do not credit it!   I only say he ought to bless his fate   That you have so preferred him to the others.   WAITING-WOMAN. (Runs in.) The guests have come already.   MARINA.                           There you see;   You're ready to chatter silliness till daybreak.   Meanwhile I am not dressed—   ROUZYA.                   Within a moment   'Twill be quite ready.

   (The Waiting-women bustle.)

   MARINA. (Aside.)     I must find out all.

A SUITE OF LIGHTED ROOMS

VISHNEVETSKY, MNISHEK   MNISHEK. With none but my Marina doth he speak,   With no one else consorteth—and that business   Looks dreadfully like marriage. Now confess,   Didst ever think my daughter would be a queen?   VISHNEVETSKY. 'Tis wonderful.—And, Mnishek, didst thou think   My servant would ascend the throne of Moscow?   MNISHEK. And what a girl, look you, is my Marina.   I merely hinted to her: "Now, be careful!   Let not Dimitry slip"—and lo! Already   He is completely tangled in her toils.

   (The band plays a Polonaise. The PRETENDER and

   MARINA advance as the first couple.)   MARINA. (Sotto voce to Dimitry.) Tomorrow evening at eleven, beside   The fountain in the avenue of lime-trees.

   (They walk off. A second couple.)

   CAVALIER. What can Dimitry see in her?   DAME.                                How say you?   She is a beauty.   CAVALIER.      Yes, a marble nymph;   Eyes, lips, devoid of life, without a smile.

   (A fresh couple.)

   DAME. He is not handsome, but his eyes are pleasing,   And one can see he is of royal birth.

   (A fresh couple.)

   DAME. When will the army march?   CAVALIER.                     When the tsarevich   Orders it; we are ready; but 'tis clear   The lady Mnishek and Dimitry mean   To keep us prisoners here.   DAME.                    A pleasant durance.   CAVALIER. Truly, if you…

   (They walk off; the rooms become empty.)

   MNISHEK.          We old ones dance no longer;   The sound of music lures us not; we press not   Nor kiss the hands of charmers—ah! My friend,   I've not forgotten the old pranks! Things now   Are not what once they were, what once they were!   Youth, I'll be sworn, is not so bold, nor beauty   So lively; everything—confess, my friend—   Has somehow become dull. So let us leave them;   My comrade, let us go and find a flask   Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould;   Let's bid my butler open an old bottle,   And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete,   Let's drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat;   And while we're so engaged, let's think things over.   Let us go, brother.   VISHNEVETSKY.     Yes, my friend, let's go.

NIGHT

THE GARDEN. THE FOUNTAIN   PRETENDER. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come.   I was not born a coward; I have seen   Death near at hand, and face to face with death   My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon   Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued,   And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness   I have escaped captivity. But what   Is this which now constricts my breath? What means   This overpowering tremor, or this quivering   Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day   I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered   On all that I should say to her, how best   I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind,   Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour   Has come—and I remember naught, I cannot   Recall the speeches I have learned by rote;   Love puts imagination to confusion—   But something there gleamed suddenly—a rustling;   Hush—no, it was the moon's deceitful light,   It was the rustling of the breeze.   MARINA. (Enters.)                Tsarevich!   PRETENDER. 'Tis she. Now all the blood in me stands still.   MARINA. Dimitry! Is it thou?   PRETENDER.                 Bewitching voice!

   (Goes to her.)

   Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see, alone   With me, beneath the roof of quiet night?   How slowly passed the tedious day! How slowly   The glow of evening died away! How long   I have waited in the gloom of night!   MARINA.                            The hours   Are flitting fast, and time is precious to me.   I did not grant a meeting here to thee   To listen to a lover's tender speeches.   No need of words. I well believe thou lovest;   But listen; with thy stormy, doubtful fate   I have resolved to join my own; but one thing,   Dimitry, I require; I claim that thou   Disclose to me thy secret hopes, thy plans,   Even thy fears, that hand in hand with thee   I may confront life boldly—not in blindness   Of childlike ignorance, not as the slave   And plaything of my husband's light desires,   Thy speechless concubine, but as thy spouse,   And worthy helpmate of the tsar of Moscow.   PRETENDER. O, if it be only for one short hour,   Forget the cares and troubles of my fate!   Forget 'tis the tsarevich whom thou seest   Before thee. O, behold in me, Marina,   A lover, by thee chosen, happy only   In thy regard. O, listen to the prayers   Of love! Grant me to utter all wherewith   My heart is full.   MARINA.         Prince, this is not the time;   Thou loiterest, and meanwhile the devotion   Of thine adherents cooleth. Hour by hour   Danger becomes more dangerous, difficulties   More difficult; already dubious rumours   Are current, novelty already takes   The place of novelty; and Godunov   Adopts his measures.   PRETENDER.         What is Godunov?   Is thy sweet love, my only blessedness,   Swayed by Boris? Nay, nay. Indifferently   I now regard his throne, his kingly power.   Thy love—without it what to me is life,   And glory's glitter, and the state of Russia?   On the dull steppe, in a poor mud hut, thou—   Thou wilt requite me for the kingly crown;   Thy love—   MARINA. For shame! Forget not, prince, thy high   And sacred destiny; thy dignity   Should be to thee more dear than all the joys   Of life and its allurements. It thou canst not   With anything compare. Not to a boy,   Insanely boiling, captured by my beauty—   But to the heir of Moscow's throne give I   My hand in solemn wise, to the tsarevich   Rescued by destiny.   PRETENDER.        Torture me not,   Charming Marina; say not that 'twas my rank   And not myself that thou didst choose. Marina!   Thou knowest not how sorely thou dost wound   My heart thereby. What if—O fearful doubt!—   Say, if blind destiny had not assigned me   A kingly birth; if I were not indeed   Son of Ivan, were not this boy, so long   Forgotten by the world—say, then wouldst thou   Have loved me?   MARINA.      Thou art Dimitry, and aught else   Thou canst not be; it is not possible   For me to love another.   PRETENDER.            Nay! Enough—   I have no wish to share with a dead body   A mistress who belongs to him; I have done   With counterfeiting, and will tell the truth.   Know, then, that thy Dimitry long ago   Perished, was buried—and will not rise again;   And dost thou wish to know what man I am?   Well, I will tell thee. I am—a poor monk.   Grown weary of monastic servitude,   I pondered 'neath the cowl my bold design,   Made ready for the world a miracle—   And from my cell at last fled to the Cossacks,   To their wild hovels; there I learned to handle   Both steeds and swords; I showed myself to you.   I called myself Dimitry, and deceived   The brainless Poles. What say'st thou, proud Marina?   Art thou content with my confession? Why   Dost thou keep silence?   MARINA.               O shame! O woe is me!

   (Silence.)

   PRETENDER. (Sotto voce.) O whither hath a fit of anger led me?   The happiness devised with so much labour   I have, perchance, destroyed for ever. Idiot,   What have I done? (Aloud.) I see thou art ashamed   Of love not princely; so pronounce on me   The fatal word; my fate is in thy hands.   Decide; I wait.

   (Falls on his knees.)

   MARINA.       Rise, poor pretender! Think'st thou   To please with genuflex on my vain heart,   As if I were a weak, confiding girl?   You err, my friend; prone at my feet I've seen   Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this   Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk—   PRETENDER. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues   May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy   Of Moscow's throne, even of thy priceless hand—   MARINA. Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch!   PRETENDER. I am to blame; carried away by pride   I have deceived God and the kings—have lied   To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina,   To judge me; I am guiltless before thee.   No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me   Wast the one sacred being, before thee   I dared not to dissemble; love alone,   Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all.   MARINA. What's that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded   Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant   Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then   At least thou shouldst have merited success,   And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep,   And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield   Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank   And maiden modesty, unite my fate   With thine, when thou thyself impetuously   Dost thus with such simplicity reveal   Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me!   I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship   Disclosed thyself ere now before my father,   Or else before our king from joy, or else   Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal   Of a devoted servant.   PRETENDER.          I swear to thee   That thou alone wast able to extort   My heart's confession; I swear to thee that never,   Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup   Of folly, not in friendly confidence,   Not 'neath the knife nor tortures of the rack,   Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets.   MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe,   Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest?   Is it not by the name of God, as suits   The Jesuits' devout adopted son?   Or by thy honour as a high-born knight?   Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone   As a king's son? Is it not so? Declare.   PRETENDER. (Proudly.) The phantom of the Terrible hath made me   His son; from out the sepulchre hath named me   Dimitry, hath stirred up the people round me,   And hath consigned Boris to be my victim.   I am tsarevich. Enough! 'Twere shame for me   To stoop before a haughty Polish dame.   Farewell for ever; the game of bloody war,   The wide cares of my destiny, will smother,   I hope, the pangs Of love. O, when the heat   Of shameful passion is o'erspent, how then   Shall I detest thee! Now I leave thee—ruin,   Or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia;   Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier   In honourable fight, or as a miscreant   Upon the public scaffold, thou shalt not   Be my companion, nor shalt share with me   My fate; but it may be thou shalt regret   The destiny thou hast refused.   MARINA.                      But what   If I expose beforehand thy bold fraud   To all men?   PRETENDER. Dost thou think I fear thee? Think'st thou   They will believe a Polish maiden more   Than Russia's own tsarevich? Know, proud lady,   That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles trouble   Whether my words be true, whether I be   Dimitry or another. What care they?   But I provide a pretext for revolt   And war; and this is all they need; and thee,   Rebellious one, believe me, they will force   To hold thy peace. Farewell.   MARINA.                    Tsarevich, stay!   At last I hear the speech not of a boy,   But of a man. It reconciles me to thee.   Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see   Again Dimitry. Listen; now is the time!   Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops   Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take   Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then   Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me,   Until thy foot be planted on its steps,   Until by thee Boris be overthrown,   I am not one to listen to love-speeches.   PRETENDER. No—easier far to strive with Godunov.   Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court,   Than with a woman. Deuce take them; they're beyond   My power. She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out   Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites. Ah, serpent!   Serpent! 'Twas not for nothing that I trembled.   She well-nigh ruined me; but I'm resolved;   At daybreak I will put my troops in motion.

THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER

(OCTOBER 16TH, 1604)

PRINCE KURBSKY and PRETENDER, both on horseback. Troops approach the Frontier

   KURBSKY. (Galloping at their head.)   There, there it is; there is the Russian frontier!   Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine!   With scorn from off my clothing now I shake   The foreign dust, and greedily I drink   New air; it is my native air. O father,   Thy soul hath now been solaced; in the grave   Thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy!   Again doth flash our old ancestral sword,   This glorious sword—the dread of dark Kazan!   This good sword—servant of the tsars of Moscow!   Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter,   Serving the master of its hopes.   PRETENDER. (Moves quietly with bowed head.) How happy   Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory   His stainless soul! Brave knight, I envy thee!   The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile,   Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father,   Redeeming his transgression in the grave,   Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan   To shed thy blood, to give the fatherland   Its lawful tsar. Righteous art thou; thy soul   Should flame with joy.   KURBSKY.             And dost not thou likewise   Rejoice in spirit? There lies our Russia; she   Is thine, tsarevich! There thy people's hearts   Are waiting for thee, there thy Moscow waits,   Thy Kremlin, thy dominion.   PRETENDER.               Russian blood,   O Kurbsky, first must flow! Thou for the tsar   Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless; but I lead you   Against your brothers; I am summoning   Lithuania against Russia; I am showing   To foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow!   But let my sin fall not on me, but thee,   Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on!   KURBSKY. Forward! Advance! And woe to Godunov.

   (They gallop. The troops cross the frontier.)

THE COUNCIL OF THE TSAR

The TSAR, the PATRIARCH and Boyars   TSAR. Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against us   Leads rascal troops, a truant friar dares write   Threats to us! Then 'tis time to tame the madman!   Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov;   My zealous governors need help. Chernigov   Already by the rebel is besieged;   Rescue the city and citizens.   BASMANOV.                   Three months   Shall not pass, Sire, ere even rumour's tongue   Shall cease to speak of the pretender; caged   In iron, like a wild beast from oversea,   We'll hale him into Moscow, I swear by God.

   (Exit with TRUBETSKOY.)

   TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered   Alliance to me. But we have no need   To lean on foreign aid; we have enough   Of our own warlike people to repel   Traitors and Poles. I have refused.—Shchelkalov!   In every district to the governors   Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send   The people as of old on service; likewise   Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist   The servants of the churchmen. In days of old,   When danger faced our country, hermits freely   Went into battle; it is not now our wish   To trouble them; no, let them pray for us;   Such is the tsar's decree, such the resolve   Of his boyars. And now a weighty question   We shall determine; ye know how everywhere   The insolent pretender hath spread abroad   His artful rumours; letters everywhere,   By him distributed, have sowed alarm   And doubt; seditious whispers to and fro   Pass in the market-places; minds are seething.   We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrain   From executions, but by what means and how?   That we will now determine. Holy father,   Thou first declare thy thought.   PATRIARCH.                    The Blessed One,   The All-Highest, hath instilled into thy soul,   Great lord, the spirit of kindness and meek patience;   Thou wishest not perdition for the sinner,   Thou wilt wait quietly, until delusion   Shall pass away; for pass away it will,   And truth's eternal sun will dawn on all.   Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters   No prudent judge, ventures today to offer   His voice to thee. This offspring of the devil,   This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear   Dimitry to the people. Shamelessly   He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich   As with a stolen vestment. It only needs   To tear it off—and he'll be put to shame   By his own nakedness. The means thereto   God hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six years   Since then have fled; 'twas in that very year   When to the seat of sovereignty the Lord   Anointed thee—there came to me one evening   A simple shepherd, a venerable old man,   Who told me a strange secret. "In my young days,"   He said, "I lost my sight, and thenceforth knew not   Nor day, nor night, till my old age; in vain   I plied myself with herbs and secret spells;   In vain did I resort in adoration   To the great wonder-workers in the cloister;   Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water   From out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed not   Healing to me. Then lost I hope at last,   And grew accustomed to my darkness. Even   Slumber showed not to me things visible,   Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleep   I hear a childish voice; it speaks to me:   `Arise, grandfather, go to Uglich town,   To the Cathedral of Transfiguration;   There pray over my grave. The Lord is gracious—   And I shall pardon thee.'  `But who art thou?'   I asked the childish voice. `I am the tsarevich   Dimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken   Into His angel band, and I am now   A mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.'   I woke, and pondered. What is this? Maybe   God will in very deed vouchsafe to me   Belated healing. I will go. I bent   My footsteps to the distant road. I reached   Uglich, repair unto the holy minster,   Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weep   Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes   Were flowing out in tears. And when the people   Began to leave, to my grandson I said:   `Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich   Dimitry.' The boy led me—and I scarce   Had shaped before the grave a silent prayer,   When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheld   The light of God, my grandson, and the tomb."   That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told.

   (General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris several times wipes his face with his handkerchief.)

   To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned   That many sufferers had found likewise   Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich.   This is my counsel; to the Kremlin send   The sacred relics, place them in the Cathedral   Of the Archangel; clearly will the people   See then the godless villain's fraud; the might   Of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust.

   (Silence.)

   PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways   Of the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him.   Untainted sleep and power of wonder-working   He may upon the child's remains bestow;   But vulgar rumour must dispassionately   And diligently be tested; is it for us,   In stormy times of insurrection,   To weigh so great a matter? Will men not say   That insolently we made of sacred things   A worldly instrument? Even now the people   Sway senselessly this way and that, even now   There are enough already of loud rumours;   This is no time to vex the people's minds   With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange.   I myself see 'tis needful to demolish   The rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk;   But for this end other and simpler means   Will serve. Therefore, when it shall please thee, Sire,   I will myself appear in public places,   I will persuade, exhort away this madness,   And will expose the vagabond's vile fraud.   TSAR. So be it! My lord Patriarch, I pray thee   Go with us to the palace, where today   I must converse with thee.

   (Exeunt; all the boyars follow them.)

   1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how pale   Our sovereign turned, how from his face there poured   A mighty sweat?   2ND BOYAR.    I durst not, I confess,   Uplift mine eyes, nor breathe, nor even stir.   1ST BOYAR. Prince Shuisky has pulled it through. A   splendid fellow!

A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK

(DECEMBER 21st, 1604)

A BATTLE

   SOLDIERS. (Run in disorder.) Woe, woe! The Tsarevich!   The Poles! There they are! There they are!

   (Captains enter: MARZHERET and WALTHER ROZEN.)

   MARZHERET. Whither, whither? Allons! Go back!   ONE OF THE FUGITIVES. You go back, if you like, cursed   infidel.   MARZHERET. Quoi, quoi?   ANOTHER. Kva! kva! You like, you frog from over the   sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich; but we—we are   orthodox.   MARZHERET. Qu'est-ce a dire "orthodox"? Sacres gueux,   maudite canaille! Mordieu, mein Herr, j'enrage; on   dirait que ca n'a pas de bras pour frapper, ca n'a que des   jambes pour fuir.   ROZEN. Es ist Schande.   MARZHERET. Ventre-saint gris! Je ne bouge plus d'un pas;   puisque le vin est tire, il faut le boire. Qu'en dites-vous,   mein Herr?   ROZEN. Sie haben Recht.   MARZHERET. Tudieu, il y fait chaud! Ce diable de "Pretender,"   comme ils l'appellent, est un bougre, qui a du   poil au col?—Qu'en pensez-vous, mein Herr?   ROZEN. Ja.   MARZHERET. He! Voyez donc, voyez donc! L'action s'engage   sur les derrieres de l'ennemi. Ce doit etre le brave   Basmanov, qui aurait fait une sortie.   ROZEN. Ich glaube das.

   (Enter Germans.)

   MARZHERET. Ha, ha! Voici nos allemands. Messieurs!   Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu,   chargeons!   ROZEN. Sehr gut. Halt! (The Germans halt.) Marsch!   THE GERMANS. (They march.) Hilf Gott!

   (Fight. The Russians flee again.)

   POLES. Victory! Victory! Glory to the tsar Dimitry!   DIMITRY. (On horseback.) Cease fighting. We have   conquered. Enough! Spare Russian blood. Cease   fighting.

OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW

THE PEOPLE   ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Will the tsar soon come out of the   Cathedral?   ANOTHER. The mass is ended; now the Te Deum is going on.   THE FIRST. What! Have they already cursed him?   THE SECOND. I stood in the porch and heard how the deacon   cried out:—Grishka Otrepiev is anathema!   THE FIRST. Let him curse to his heart's content; the   tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev.   THE SECOND. But they are now singing mass for the repose   of the soul of the tsarevich.   THE FIRST. What? A mass for the dead sung for a living   Man? They'll suffer for it, the godless wretches!   A THIRD. Hist! A sound. Is it not the tsar?   A FOURTH. No, it is the idiot.

   (An idiot enters, in an iron cap, hung round with chains, surrounded by boys.)